The Butterfly Effect
by profoundlyfaded
Summary: A freak storm makes it possible for Emma Swan to speak across time with an old ham radio that has been gathering dust since her father's death twenty years earlier. The resulting conversations with David from Misthaven have further reaching consequences when Emma discovers her whole life has changed in ways she did not consider when she informed David he was about to die. In 1996.
1. Have a Nice Day I

_21 October, 2016_

Laughter filled the master bedroom of a corner house in the suburbs of Storybrooke as the first shades of dawn lightened the room. Emma straddled her lover, grinding herself against his groin while running her fingers through Killian's thick chest hair. A deep chuckle resonated in his chest as he thrust up to match her moves before pulling her down so their bodies were flush. Killian's fingers massaged the base of her spine as Emma wriggled against him.

'You are a true siren, love,' he whispered while threading his fingers into her blonde hair as she gasped. He sucked at the pulse point under her jaw while her eyes drifted shut.

They moved together. Emma taking the lead atop of him as they continued their exploration of each other. Killian's fingers grazed over her sensitive skin as her core clenched around him. Her release exploded from her lips in a soft sigh of completion. Killian stroked her heated skin. In a swift move, flipped them so she was beneath him. His lips devoured her as he continued to move within her. Emma's cries intensified but were swallowed by his kisses as her toes curled into the soft cotton sheets. Her fingers struggled to find purchase on his back, now slick with sweat, but she clung to his toned shoulders.

Somewhere in the distance, Emma's phone chirped in a shrill tone.

'Ignore it,' muttered Killian, reaching down, sliding his hand over her thigh until he reached her knee. He pulled her leg up over his hip, changing the angle so she cried out.

His movements grew erratic as he reached his own climax. He groaned out her name, burying his head in the crook of her neck as she came down from another orgasm. Her fingers slid over his slick back as he came back to his senses, kissing her languidly. She'd give anything to stay put, twisted in the sheets of her bed with this man but she could hear the house coming to life. In an attic room above them, she could hear the plodding feet of her fifteen-year-old son as he began to stir for the morning.

'I should get up,' she whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around his body.

Killian groaned, making no effort to move bar to look at her. Their noses nudged each other. 'Who says?'

'The little birdy on my phone that is kindly reminding me I have an eight thirty start,' she said between kisses. 'Not to mention Henry is getting up.' Again, Killian only responded with a growl while grinding his hips into her. She giggled. 'Come on, Jones,' she chided him. 'He's going to his grandmother's tonight. We'll get all evening and tomorrow together.' Her voice lowered to a seductive sotto as she arched beneath him in a teasing manner.

'I know,' he replied, nipping her behind the ear. 'But can you blame a man for wanting to stay put when he as the most beautiful woman in the universe in his bed?'

She chuckled as he nibbled a row of kisses down her throat, over her neck towards her breasts. 'Ours,' she reminded him as he nipped at her nipple while threading her fingers through his hair. 'Killian,' she moaned under his ministrations. 'Come on!'

He chuckled, an obscene laugh but rolled off her, landing on his back beside her. His blue gaze swept over her, an intense look which sent a pleasant shiver down her back.

She smiled back before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed while tugging him with come-hither eyes.

Enticing Killian into the shower with her had not taken much in the way of persuasion when she sauntered out to the en suite. Before they had met she had not been one for giggling, but she laughed in his arms as hot water sluiced over their bodies. Even now, a good twenty minutes after he had left her to start on breakfast, the smile on her face was perfectly obscene. Down below she could hear the faint melody of music from the radio below the chuckles of her boyfriend and son as they fell into their early morning ritual. Any reservations she once had about Killian moving in had been quickly put to rest. The last three months had been the sort of domestic bliss she thought she'd never find.

Her eyes flicked over the dresser searching for her badge. It was wedged in Killian's underwear drawer. She pulled it open to free the leather wallet, but her attention was quickly diverted when she saw a suede covered box. The black material shone in the pale October light. A shaking hand moved forward to pick it up. It opened with a click to reveal an antique square cut diamond ring. She gasped. It wasn't the sort of thing you just gave as a birthday present. It usually came with a man on one knee with promises of forever.

Emma gasped, barely keeping in a squeal at the thought Killian Jones wanted to keep her forever. She closed it softly and nestled it back amongst the underwear that had barely covered it. Emma sank onto the bed, rubbing her hands together at the thought of the ring, and others, adorning her finger.

Downstairs, the phone rang. She heard Henry answer it.

'Mom,' he yelled, 'its the station.'

'Be there in a sec,' she called back forcing her to no longer think about the little box, nor to envision how she would feel in his arms promising her forever to him.

The smile was too wide on her face to even contemplate it being a no.

With that in mind, Emma dashed out the room and galloped down the stairs to where Henry stood with the receiver.

'Swan,' she said as she put it to her ear, smiling as the smell of pancakes and bacon assaulted her nose intermingled with a hint of the Columbian coffee Killian favoured for the mornings. 'Ah, you're kidding me,' she said to the man on the other end of the land. 'I'll head straight out there in twenty.'

She dumped the receiver down and headed out to the kitchen where the two men of her life were still flipping pancakes. Killian had adored a flowery apron her mother had given them as a moving in present while Henry was streaked in flour. She chuckled. They both looked up.

'Happy Birthday,' they chorused with Killian pushing a coffee over the breakfast bar.

She ignored it in favour of making a beeline for him and kissing him regardless of her son's slightly disgusted sound in the back of his throat. Emma couldn't help it, but she grinned into the kiss, inhaling the fresh mint scent of the shower gel she had rubbed into his chest.

'Thank you,' she whispered before stepping away to give her son a one armed hug. 'Thanks, kid,' she said as Killian began to plate up the breakfast.

/*\\*/*\

'You don't live here anymore.'

Emma's dumbstruck voice at the sight of her mother in the living room brought to her a halt. Snow looked at her daughter with a smile before walking over to give her a hug.

She wrapped Emma in a huge hug pressing a kiss to her cheek.

'I know, but can't a mom drop in on her birthday girl?' she asked, as she pulled away but kept holding on to her upper arms.

'Of course,' Emma replied, a smile crinkling on her lips until she caught the wafted of lasagne hit her name. 'But you aren't supposed to cook.'

Snow waved off her daughters attempted at a rebuke. 'Why can't a Mom cook her girl a dinner on her birthday?'

'Because she's been crawled over by third graders all day,' quipped Emma without missing a beat as she peered down into the oven to see the white sauce bubbling over the layers of pasta. 'Where's Killian?'

Snow chuckled as Emma straightened and threw her badge on the breakfast bar. 'I sent him, Henry and August to get beer from the garage an hour ago. I've not seen them since.'

'Bromance,' the two women chuckled together.

The Snow's lined face became serious as Emma went to the fridge to pull out a half full bottle of white wine. 'So you going to tell me why you've been burning out my phone all day?'

Emma poured the wine into stemless glasses and handed one to Snow. She shrugged. 'Okay, don't go mental,' she said taking a sip of her cool beverage.

'You're pregnant,' Snow blurted out.

Emma raised an eyebrow as she tilted her head while tilting her wine glass in a sardonic manner.

'Okay, not pregnant,' Snow conceded but mirrored Emma's expression.

'I found a ring,' said Emma, lowering her voice, glancing out the window in the direction of the garage. 'In his underwear drawer.'

Snow pulled her arms free, clapping her hands on her cheek as a soft cry of delight escaped her lips before cupping her daughter's cheeks. Snow's eyes were bright as she searched her daughter's face for her reaction.

Snow's face lit up. 'Oh, Emma.'

Emma's face relaxed into a smile, a small tear forming in her right eye. 'I know, right?'

Snow enveloped her in a hug, pulling her tightly so Emma's chin rested on her shoulder. 'You're going to say yes, right?'

Emma pulled back, arching her eyebrow. Killian had been the first person she had ever allowed to inhabit her living space… 'Mom,' she said, drawing out the word as she disengaged, but the lilt in her tone made Snow smile.

Emma tapped her mom's shoulder before turning her attention to the outside when she saw August emerge on the roof of the garage. 'What the…' she muttered as she pushed open the door.

'August!'

Emma's voice echoed through the back yard as she jogged down the steps, her glass of wine still in hand. A small amount of it splashed over her hand. 'What are you doing?'

He paused. Then spun as carefully as he could on the slippery slate of the roof with the sort of look on his face that Emma would usually warrant as good enough cause to refer to the DA's office. He held up his bottle of Coors Light in cautious greeting as Killian's voice echoed up through the hatch.

'You nearly had it there, mate!'

'She's pissed,' August yelled back, his head tilting in the direction of the hatch.

'Who's pissed?'

'Emma,' replied August not taking his eyes off her.

She stood with her arms crossed, staring up at him with a raised eyebrow, silently questioning just want to the three men were up to. She's yet to hear Henry's voice, but she knows he's in there with Killian. The young teen might never admit it, but he worshipped the ground Killian walks on and never misses the opportunity for mischief-making

August inevitably brought with him.

The door to the garage flew open, with Killian eyeing her warily. Behind her, Emma became vaguely aware of her mother opening the door to stand on the back porch. Killian's blue eyes flick from her to her mother and back again. 'Did you know there is an old ham radio in here?'

She scoffed but tightened her arms over her chest while her lips crease into a frown. 'Of course,' she replied tightly, with a glance over her shoulder. If Emma felt tense, it was nothing compared to her mother who stood as still as a statue behind her with a glass of wine halfway to her mouth. 'I'd rather you leave it be,' she said.

'Oh come on, Swan!' Killian half moaned. 'It'll be fun.'

She shook her head as she stepped closer to him. Her hand reached out for his. His fingers twisted with hers. 'It was my father's.'

He blinked, his face turning to one of understanding as he squeezed her fingers. 'Okay, love,' he said. He twists to look at August who has been watching the whole exchange.

'Get down from there mate, before we have to call the EMT's.'

'Right, Captain!' he calls back before picking his way back along the roof.

Killian's attention is back on her. 'I didn't realise,' he said softly, his other hand coming up to cup her cheek.

She nods her head, then glances over to her mother, watching as she takes a large mouthful of wine. Her heart sinks at the reminder that sometimes the pain never goes away. It rarely comes up now, but something about her father occasionally blindsides her and Emma is thirteen years old, hearing the news for the first time.

The pain must show on her face because within seconds Killian has wrapped his arms around her as Henry appears. He glances at him mother but makes a beeline from his grandmother. Snow smiles at the sight of Henry as he takes the steps two at the time. Emma hears her mother make some reference to his height and how he just seems to keep growing.

August appeared a moment later, holding out a beer for her with an apologetic smile. 'Happy birthday, Ems,' he says as she takes it. 'Shall we get this party started?' he called up to Snow as he strode back to the house.

Getting the party started involved soft music, her mother's lasagne and wine. August's wife and daughter joined the party once she was home, filling the garden with laughter as a game of soccer began in earnest leaving Emma, Snow and Tink chuckling at their endeavors as the sun went down and the night cooled. Snow hauled Henry off half an hour after August left leaving Emma and Killian on the back porch under the fairy lights she had decorated it with a few weeks after he moved in with her. Instead of sitting at the table, they move to the love seat wrapped in scarves and covered in a blanket. Emma finds contentment in his arms, head against his firm chest as her mind wonders back to the morning.

He drops a kiss on her head. 'You didn't mention how your day went?'

She shrugged. 'Don't want to talk about it,' she said. 'We've got to open a cold case.'

He winces beneath her, so she covers his hand. Being a detective in the Police Department of a busy city like Storybrooke is not an easy job. Sometimes it's even hard to be the partner of said detective, but the ring she found indicated Killian is more than ready to commit. He lifts her hand to his lips and adorns her knuckle with a soft kiss. She nuzzles him in response.

Silence falls between them. It's the comfortable sort shared by two people who are happy to be at one. She sips her wine as anticipation settles in her belly.  
'Emma?' his voice is low, and she more feels her name than hear it.  
She turns to look at him. Killian's dark blue eyes sparkle in the twinkling fairy light. It occurs to her, this close, just how handsome he is. Even the small scar under his eye enhances his otherwise symmetrical face. Beneath her, he shifts, hand plunging into his pocket and pulling out the ring she had found earlier. Despite expecting it, she says his name softly, her eyes fixed on the twinkling diamond. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees this perfectly kissable lips curve into a smile.  
'Emma, will you marry me?'  
Silence falls between them as Emma reaches out for the ring pinched between this finger and thumb. A giddy laugh escapes her lips. She turns back to him, their eyes meeting with matching smiles on their faces.  
'Yes,' she whispers before pressing a tender kiss to his lips. 'Yes.'

 _22 October 2016_

The storm woke her. Emma had never been able to sleep through the crackle of electricity that filled the air. It didn't help she was somewhat restless by the coursing adrenaline in the aftermath of Killian's proposal. She could have cuddled into his warm body, maybe coaxed him out of sleep with the promise of more celebrations to commemorate their new status. Her eyes flicked down to the ring on her finger. Its weight was unusual but comfortable. Emma flickered the kettle on and pulled out the hot chocolate and cinnamon from the cupboard.

The stormed thundered over her head, the sky around her house lighting up as streaks of light hit the ground. She jumped a little as the house shook a little and the kitchen light flickered. She turned just in time to see a bolt smash into the antenna August had been hooking up. Emma yelped.

'Jesus fucking christ,' she muttered as she grabbed her jacket and pulled it on over the camisole she wore.

Emma ran out into the night, her feet getting wet in the flip flops she wore. She barely noticed as she ran to inspect any possible damage. Emma burst through the door to the sound of static crackling on the old ham she had previously admonished Killian over with the hint of a voice over calling out over it. Emma paused at the sight, it's dial lit up. She hadn't turned the damn thing on since her vain efforts to reach out to her deceased father in the ether twenty years ago.

Before she had found out just want kind of a man he really was.

'CQ. Calling CQ. This is WQ2YV. Is this frequency clear? This is WQ.'

The voice continued calling out as Emma walked towards it. Her face pinched in a frown as she got closer. She pressed down on the microphone. 'Hello?'

'Hello, hey! Hey, so what's your call?'

Emma blinked as she sat in the chair. 'I'm sorry. I didn't even know this thing was working.'

'That's okay,' said the voice. 'So where you from?'

'Misthaven, Storybrooke,' a grin caught on her face.

The mystery caller chuckled graciously. 'Get out of here! Dockside, born and bred! You a Pirates fan?'

'I was,' Emma replied. 'I don't really follow baseball anymore.'

'Ah, but you still gotta love watching the Yanks getting slapped around, huh?' continued the good-natured caller.

Emma chuckled. 'Okay, who doesn't?'

'Yeah, I mean, Maddux was just incredible tonight.'

Radio static filled the garage as Emma sat back. She clenched her fist for a moment. 'Greg Maddux?' she said in a questioning voice. 'As in Atlanta Braves?'

'As in game two,' he replied in a dour voice as if she were somehow taking the mickey. 'Come on Misty, you're breaking my heart here.'

'No,' Emma called back. 'I get it, Yankee's - Braves World Series. In 1996.'

'There you go,' chuckled the caller, the conversation back on track but Emma's brow furrow.

She leant forward, resting her arms on the table the radio sat upon. 'As in the third game, Bernie Williams jacks a two-run shot in the bottom of the eights. Yanks take the Series in six.'

The incredulous laugh from the caller filled the room. 'Right, and you don't follow ball. Okay, yeah, lets do this, I'm good for twenty on that.'

Emma pressed the microphone. 'It's not a prediction,' she replied as something started to settle in her belly.

'Look, Misty, you seem nice, you do but my thirteen-year-old kid has more chance of taking to shuttle astronauts than than Yankee's do of taking the series.'

Emma froze, much like her mother did earlier in the day at the mention of her father. A memory filled her of trying to call Columbia, or Endeavour, or Discovery with her dad as her mother watched on with a bemused expression. But there were no Shuttles in the sky anymore, and the Yankees ended up dominating the rest of the decade in the World Series. If her memory was right, the Cubs were about to go toe to toe with Cleveland. At least, she was sure that's what August had told her fiancé who was indifferent about the news. Killian simply didn't enjoy the America variety of sports when there was British Rugby to sate his appetite.

'Your daughter?' she questioned, unable to help herself. 'What was that about your daughter?'

'Oh, she turned thirteen today,' his mirth dying away. 'So I guess she's on my mind, you know?'

Emma paused, the fingers she had been drumming on the table pausing in mid-air. Above her, the thunder rumbled shocking her out of her train of thought. She looked up, wondering if the storm had been going on the whole time. It would explain the static…

'What's your name?'

'David.'

'David from Misthaven,' she deadpanned.

'Yup,' he agreed, but the warmth from his voice had completely gone. 'Finally something we can agree on.'

'Who the hell is this?'

But static flooded the line. Emma adjusted dial multiple times over but each frequency was filled with the same noise.

David from Misthaven was gone.


	2. Have a Nice Day II

22 October, 1996

Static filled the one bedroom apartment given to David as part of his assignment. He stared at the ham radio he had been speaking on. Weeks had passed since he had last made a connection. Normally he found himself chatting ball with other nearby Pirates fans. However, talking with Misty was decidedly the oddest call he'd been on for a while. Her predictions for the Yankee's, which seemed entertaining as he glanced up at the telly replaying the highlights, were the last of his concern. However, she had been adamant that William's performance would turn the tide. Misty recited her prediction with precision. In the back of his mind, he pondered the worth of a flutter on what she said. Yankees hadn't won since his own childhood, not that the Pirates had recently trumped the Yankees. In fact, the New York team had trashed Storybrooke's resident heroes the last time they met.

It wasn't until the end of the call when anger filled her voice that concern rose. His name seemed to bother her in a way it shouldn't. How many David's in Misthaven's were there? Yet it struck an angry chord.

People were strange. He of all people knew that.

He took a long drag on the cigar he'd been chewing on through the conversation. His eyes fell on the Backstreet Boys cassette covered in cellophane next to the radio. He had talked it out of Graham Humbert what Emma was into these days. His life undercover didn't permit his contacting her for fear of exposure but he kept his word over the secret messaging system with Emma. She used it less now she was older. But it didn't mean he wouldn't uphold his end of his end of the bargain. Especially on her birthday. Humbert's veiled warning about going back to the house sat with him but bringing up Emma with the impatient Misty only strengthened his resolve.

Besides, he was close now. It wouldn't be long before all this would be over.

He picked up the cassette and rolled it over in his hands a few times before heading to the meagre kitchen. He pulled out the empty coffee canisters he saved for his messages to Emma. He shoved the tape in as he switched off the TV with his hip in the middle of a murder report.

The drive to Tenth Street from his downtown dive didn't take long. The half light of the dawn made his labour easy but he was conscious of Snow waking up to find him there. He made quick work of the hole thanks to the rainfall over past couple of days - so bad it had delayed the start of the World Series. After dumping the wet mud back in its hole, David stepped back to pick up the flag he had left just out of reach.

The small stars and stripes fluttered in the soft breeze of the morning. He watched it for a moment, not wanting to do this. Every time he plunged the little flag in the ground his heart broke remembering Emma's cries begging him not to leave. It made so much sense at the time.

A car went passed, forcing David out of his reprieve. He looked at the watch on his wrist. It was nearly seven meaning Snow would be stirring anytime soon. He chanced a glance up to the window of Emma's room. It had been two years since he had last seen his daughter properly. Fleeting glimpses was all he was afforded in moments where he could tear himself away for his work. The three-month gig had stretched on far longer than it ever should off. He dashed back to his car, parked on One-Hundred and Fifteenth East, and hunkered down as the neighbourhood came to life.

At eight, kids started pouring out their houses. Long time neighbour, August barrelled out his house, waved off by his ageing father and headed down to knock on Emma's door. The two had been firm friends since Kindergarten.

Snow appeared with a warm smile on face, offering him a wrapped up package that seemed to be a little ritual. She turned back to the house, no doubt calling on Emma. In the years since he had left, Snow had cut her hair into a short pixie crop thus hiding away the tumbles of black hair of her fairy tale namesake. She placed her hands on her hips as she stepped back in the house, but Emma hurtled around from the back with her knapsack on clutching at the coffee can he had buried.

Emma had grown into a beautiful child with golden hair streaming out behind her as she ran to join August. Snow looked at her daughter clutching the muddied can. Her eyes flared as Emma shoved the can in her hand while setting out with August, running off to join the herd of children making for the elementary school.

David hunkered down further into the battered seat of his car as Snow looked out. her eyes searching the street for her missing husband. Her expression was cold, biting down on her right cheek as she shook her head.

* * *

Meeting for drinks was no easy endeavour for an undercover cop still trying to keep tabs on his roots. Luckily for David, his marks moved in Misthaven and Arendelle District freeing up other area's of Storybrooke to meet Graham Humbert. The Golden district in the south of the city offered for a safe haven to share a drink with a fellow officer. But they still had to keep it discrete.

The dingy dive bar offered the game on a crackly little screen overlooking the tables. The commentary was speculating on the overall demise of the Yankee's to the scattered sound of cheers and jeers. The Bookie in Misthaven had practically howled with laughter when he put down twenty on the Yankees winning. Yet Misty had been so certain, he was sure of it. Besides, what was twenty if they lost?

Graham passed him an opened Bud. David silently toasted his mate before taking a long sip.

'So, what do you think about these Nightingale murders?' David asked as he swung the bottle from his thumb and forefinger.

Graham shrugged, but the tension had built on his shoulders as soon as he said 'Nightingale'. 'It's a bitch, I know that. The top brass is already in a tizzy about it. Press are already likening him to Zuso.'

David screwed his face up in disgust. 'He's targeting teacher's isn't he?'

Graham gulped a few mouthfuls from his bottle. 'Elementary. For now,' he confirmed, watching David's expression. 'But Snow is going to be just fine. She's smart.'

David nodded, but he didn't feel any better. He grimaced, looking back at the label of his bottle. It peeled at the edges as he turned his mind to Emma and Snow. His wife's cold look was etched in his mind.

'How was the party?' he asked.

Graham shrugged as a gang of dolled up Braves tumbled through the door. 'Come on, Dave, you know how Snow does it. Em was smiling ear to ear the entire time.' He had to raise his voice over the flurry of sound from the newcomers.

David nodded, glancing away to disguise his remorseful expression.

'It was a nice party.'

Despite himself, David's lips hitched into a smile before he put the bottle to his lips again.

'Look, man,' Graham continued when David looked back. 'Word if you've been swinging by the house.' He paused while David took a gulp from the bottle. 'I don't know the details, but Snow asked me to ask you to stop.'

'Right.'

'I think Em is starting to ask questions, hard questions that Snow just can't answer,' Graham paused to drink from his Bud before lowering his voice. 'You've been under for three years, Dave. I wouldn't be the only happy to have you back in the real world.'

David nodded, resting his chin on his curled fist. 'Yeah,' he agreed. 'I'm working on it.'

Graham's eyebrows shot up, a smile forming on his lips. From the outset, he had been against David's foray into undercover, particularly when the process got longer and longer. But he had stood by his friend.

'When?' he asked, then shook his head. 'You can't tell me when can you?'

David shook his head, a quick expression.

'But it's good, man,' Graham said. 'Really damn good, but you've got to stay safe. They say the most dangerous time after starting is getting back out again.'

David nodded his agreement. Graham drained his bottle before clapping his hand on the shoulder of his friend. With a final smile, Graham slunk off into the crowd pulling up his collar. David turned his attention to the TV, leaning back on the bar taking note when he saw William's name for the Yankees on base.

The commentator remarked on the players as some of the crowd called for William's, who had already managed to score two ribeye's, to nail the Braves to the boo of Atalanta fans…

'… Misty, hey, how did you call that homer?' David asked when she finally answered after ten minutes of hailing her on the frequency from the night before.

'It happened twenty years ago. In Ninety-six,' came the reply.

David looked at the end of his cigar in bemusement. 'Earth to Misty, it is Nineteen-Ninty-Six.'

He sucked on his cigar as she recited her predicted outcome for tomorrow's game in Atlanta. 'Are you screwing with me,' she asked after declaring the Yankee's would run the table from the top of the tenth for the rest of the Series.

'Me?'

David half choked on his words then grabbed his open Bud.

'David from Misty. A daughter who tries to talk to Astronauts? And you aren't trolling me? God damn it.'

Misty sounded angry as the line went dead. David shook his head. 'I'm not what-ing you?' he asked at the alien phrase she had just spat out.

'Okay, David what? What is your last name?' Misty demanded, cutting him off with an imperious tone. He took another drag of his cheap cigar.

'Swan,' he said after blowing out the smoke. 'Not that it's any of your business. You know what Misty? You are weirding me out right now.' He moved to turn when Misty's voice implored him to wait. Her tone had softened back to what she had sounded like in the first part of their very early morning exchange.

'What's your call sign?'

'It's WQ2YV,' he said.

The line went dead. Only the sound of static came from the radio as he leant back in his chair, first guzzling some Bud then another drag on his cigar which he set back on the box, missing the ashtray.

'What's your daughter's name?' Desperation tinged her voice.

'I'm out,' he said.

But her voice relented as he got to his feet, turning away as she recited what she claimed was her name, the name of his daughter, his name and the address of the house he had visited earlier in the day. Misty, or Emma, claimed it had been her home since before her parents split.

However, if hearing Emma's name was enough to incite rage, hearing her address turned that into blind anger.

He slammed his hand on the transmitter button as Misty recited his method for sending Emma presents. 'Who is this right now?' he demanded, spittle flying from his lips in rage.

'In a coffee can,' she finished as he sat back in shock.

No one but Emma or Snow would know that.

Silence.

Only the sound of his breathing filled the air. There was clattering over the line. The sound of a metal chair hitting wood.

'You burnt the box.'

David looked up to where his cigar sat, ash falling on the wooden casing. 'Damn it,' he muttered.

'Tell me you did not just burn the box?'

Emma's voice wailed over his actions as he picked up the cigar and wiped it clean.

'David?'

He picked up the mike, clutching it so hard his nails dug into the palm. His knuckles went white and he could barely hold the microphone straight as he levelled his voice. 'I want you to listen to me right now. If you contact me on this frequency again, if you contact me again then so help me God, I will hunt you down and kill you if you go near my family.'

He was deaf to the pleas of his name as he switched the radio off. He sat down with a sigh as the light of the dial faded it out, but Misty's call of his name resonated in his ears until his bottle of whisky dulled his senses.


	3. Have A Nice Day III

_A/N - To address some remarks that I've recently had. This is not a conventional in its portrayal of Snowing, or Captain Swan for that matter. I've taken the partnerships and changed them in a few ways that aren't usually used in the fandom. This is a choice I've made with the hope of being able to create something a little different._

 _Can I ask if you do enjoy it, do let me know with a like, or reblog, kudos' or reviews. It all means a lot to me._

 _22 October, 2016_

'Dad?'

The word left Emma's voice as a whisper while she sunk into a chair. Her heart pumped erratically with tears starting to form in the corner of her eyes. She pressed the corner of her eyes willing herself to calm when the door swung open. Emma looked up as Killian crossed the threshold with a tilted expression of concern.

'You looked vexed,' he said as his eyes passed over the scene.

He perched on the table, reaching out to her. She twined her fingers with his, coaxing a smile from her lips as she shifted closer. Killian pulled her into arms, his other hand resting on the base of her spine. Emma took a moment to breathe him in, soaking in the comfort his nearness provides her with.

'What happened?' His voice is soft against her temple.

Emma dragged in a deep breath, pulling away from him to meet his gaze. The blue of his eyes seem dark in their concern. sShe tried to give him a reassuring smile while stroking his jaw, the soft hair of his scruffy warm to touch.

'All this just got me thinking,' she said, looking down at where their hands were still joined.

His fingers ran up her arm. Emma rested her forehead on his shoulder as the torrent of unexplained emotions attacked her. She pulled back again. Peering into his eyes looking for that bit of strength she lacked to bring the words to the fore. She glanced back to the silent ham.

'Come on,' Killian said quietly.

He didn't let go of her hand as he tugged her along, pulling up the stairs to the porch and into the kitchen. Henry was still up, his thumbs tapping furiously on the control of his PS4 while muttering under his breath about eleven-year-old infidels.

'Five more minutes,' she called in his direction while Killian went about making hot chocolate on the stove.

He was a coffee man, but after the last two years of dating then living together, he was well taught in the art of making her favored drink. She set herself down at the breakfast bar, leaning into it on her forearms as she watched Killian work. Normally as salacious smirk would form on her lips as she admired him but her mind was gone until a hot foaming drink appeared in front of her topped with cinnamon.

Behind her, Henry shut off his console and gave them a hasty goodnight. He had long grown out of giving her a kiss goodnight, a fact she sometimes mourned now he was old. She called after him then looked back at the drink as the cinnamon became dark brown as it was saturated with liquid. Killian waited, glancing up the stairs as Henry's footfall landed on the highest floor. He looked around, coming around to sit on the stool beside her. He waited as she took a sip and wiped the foam from the top of her lip. She sucked her thumb as Killian raised an eyebrow for her. She shook her head.

Killian waited, glancing up the stairs as Henry's footfall landed on the highest floor. He looked around, coming around to sit on the stool beside her. He waited as she took a sip and wiped the foam from the top of her lip. She sucked her thumb as Killian raised an eyebrow for her. She shook her head.

'It started working,' she told him.

He held up his hands. 'After you said stop I…'

Emma placed her hand on his wrist. 'I know,' she said. 'It just kinda started working after I was clearing up in there earlier.' She gave him a reassuring smile. 'The guy on the other end was chatting Ball, commiserating the Pirate's loss but not before they tossed the Yankee's around the park.' She sighed. 'Reminded me of my dad.'

Upstairs the door clicked again. She sighed. 'He was my best friend, you know?'

Killian nodded, his expression sad. Their fingers twined back together. Killian gave her a comforting squeeze.

'He was everything to me, the sun, the moon…' she chuckled off the end of the sentence. 'Used to drive my mom insane. But then he went undercover. They tried to make it work. They had always been ridiculously in love but six months turned into "just another three" time and again until Mom couldn't take it anymore. He used to leave me presents in a coffee can after that. Another thing to drive mom insane. Then he died. It was, uh, twenty years ago tomorrow.

'Shootout. Narco dragged him out of the boot of a car. It had been rolled into the docks.'

Emma pulled her hand free from Killian and ran it through her hair as she looked away. Her engagement ring tugged on a small knot that had formed in the long strands. 'He was dirty,' she whispered. 'In too deep, forgot which side he was on…'Silence stretched out in the nooks of the old house, filling it unbearably with a story she had long tried together. Memories she had tried to quash out of her system escaped and flooded the halls of the very house in which most of it was acted out in the first place. Killian didn't move as Emma sipped more of the cooling chocolate, but as she reached the bottom, he finally moved.

The silence stretched out in the nooks of the old house, filling it unbearably with a story she had long tried together. Memories she had tried to quash out of her system escaped and flooded the halls of the very house in which most of it was acted out in the first place. Killian didn't move as Emma sipped more of the cooling chocolate, but as she reached the bottom, he finally moved. He stepped down and moved around so he was behind her before wrapping his arms around her. She felt his lips press a kiss to her hair. 'That is the most you've ever told me about him.'

He stepped down and moved around so he was behind her before wrapping his arms around her. She felt his lips press a kiss to her hair. 'That is the most you've ever told me about him.''Yeah…' she whispered. 'I dunno, it still hurts.'

''Course it does.'

 _23 October, 2016_

The night passed in a quiet haze as Emma settled into Killian's embrace with red wine and soft music playing from the CD player. Their conversation turned her mother's suggestion earlier in the day that they should have a party to celebrate their engagement. Between the two of them, they were sure the turn out would be a significantly large one. The conversation ended in Emma suggesting they just elope to city hall with Henry in toe and go before a judge. The conversation ended in the bed, much the same as the previous night had as they explored each other under the warm sheets of the bed.

However, when dawn erupted, bringing a slew of promised rain thoughts of her father settled in her belly. She walked out to her study. As a child, it had been her room and overlooked the patch in the garden where David Swan would leave her gifts. The damp earth made the place look freshly churned but it could not be so. She hugged herself and continued to stare.

A thirteen-year-old girl who refused to believe that a little stars and stripe flag would never again flutter on a pile of mud stood in her stead.

The phone in Emma's pocket vibrated, shocking her out of the melancholy thoughts. Graham Humbert's voice filled the line telling her they had an ID at the morgue. The recently exhumed body had raised some questions as the homicide team waited out the autopsy. Despite it being a Sunday, she knew she had to get over there.

The familiar smell of pancakes and bacon filled the house. Emma reached the bottom of the stairs to find Killian filling Henry's plate with the first cooked batch.

'Hey,' she said, falsely cheerful, opening the cupboard where she stashed pop tarts for morning emergencies. 'I've just had a call about my body,' she said as she put two in the toaster. 'Gonna need to head in for the morning. I'll drop in on my nanna alone. You know how it goes…'

Killian nodded. 'Aye, the later we leave the more chance we have of bumping into the esteemed Lieutenant,' he said with a grimace. 'Got it in one, Captain,' she said. 'I just don't want another one of his scenes in front of Henry again.'

'Got it in one, Captain,' she said. 'I just don't want another one of his scenes in front of Henry again.' 'Of course,' he said as the

'Of course,' he said as the pop tarts came out the toaster.

He saw her out to the porch. Under the roof that shielded the front doors and window from rain, Killian pulled her to him. His fingers gently explored her cheek and jaw as his eyes turned to a shade of concern. She leaned into the touch with a smile.

'You call me later,' he said, before pressing a kiss to her lips.

She nodded as she pushed up onto her tiptoes to claim his lips. His kiss was gentle, his arm coming around to hold her close.

'I'll see you later, Swan,' he said as she pulled away to dash for the car.

The drive across town was an easy one, that early on a rainy Sunday. She made it to the Memorial Hospital in less than forty-five minutes and parked up in a space designated for officers visiting the morgue. She was through to Victor Whale's basement den with the flash of her badge. As a homicide detective, she was well known here. The action was more habit than necessity.

'Okay, Swan,' said Whale, quickly switching the screen off on his computer and getting to his feet. 'Your body.'

'You dye your hair?' she asked, provoking an unconscious tick as Whale pushed a hand through it as he walked to his stash of gloves.

He ignored the jibe as he snapped on some latex gloves, and continued as if she hadn't spoken. 'Looking early thirties at the latest, and dumped in the marsh between eighteen and twenty-one years ago. As I was checking her over, I noticed something and got on the phone to my predecessor, Doctor Henry Hyde.'

'You ask others for help?' she deadpanned. 'Did he give you a verdict on the hair as well?'

This time he pulled a face at her. 'Yes, and no, he wasn't so forthcoming. Now, I called the old man because when I mentored under him he went on about some old case twenty years go; a fledgling serial killer who had quite the distinctive calling card.' He went back to a kidney dish sat on a trolley behind him.

Emma had noticed it, but not paid too much attention. While she could look at a body in situ, there was something about this basement that set her on edge. She pushed her hands into her pockets and curled her them into fists as Whale produced two sets of rosary beads.

'One was bound around the wrist,' he explained, holding them out in her direction. 'The other around the ankles.'

She could feel her face twisting as Whale handled the dirty beads. The clicked together.

'Ritual?'

'Not that anyone was aware of,' said Whale pouring the beads back into the kidney bowl. 'They called him the "Nightingale Killer".'

'Sure, I've heard of him,' replied Emma with a shrug. 'Targeted Elementary teachers. Her used rosaries?'

Whale pulled the gloves off. 'According to Hyde. The information wasn't made public, and you won't hear of it in your police training. But all three victims were the same.'

Emma frowned looking at the skeleton on the table, stepping forward with a grim sense of renewed interest. 'Maybe there were four,' she mused. She looked up at Whale. 'Thanks, Doc.'

He nodded. 'And I noted congratulations were in order?' he said, looking at where her hand sat in her jacket pocket.

She pulled her hand out to look at the ring. 'Yeah,' she said, her smile morphing. 'Thanks.'

The archive box she had called in for was on Emma's desk by the time she arrived in Downtown. On a Sunday morning, the team could only be described as skeletal. She gave her fellows a warm smile with Belle calling out her congratulations as she poured over her case work. Despite it all, Emma could not help the warmth she felt as she showed off her ring to the younger detective. Belle gushed for a moment, with a query as to when the big day would occur before letting Emma get on her way.

The box on Emma's desk had not been touched in some time. She ran her finger through the dust that had accumulated on the top. Emma peered at the box. The date made her frown, but she opened the box, spluttering slightly as she inhaled the twenty-year-old dust.

The department had been working on a program to digitalise the old files but cutbacks meant they would be lucky to get to ninety-six before the end of the century. The paperwork was covered in familiar signatures. As she sorted through the paper her eyes fell on Captain Humbert's signature on several occasions. The old manilla files began to stack up on her desk, sorted by the victim in the order of their bodies being found with a singular sheet for her Jane Doe at the end.

Her phone buzzed. Emma pulled the device out of her pocket to see a message from Killian. His casual curiosity as to how it was going was double speak for asking how long she was going to be. They had plans to celebrate their engagement with Henry and her mother in the afternoon. If the medical examiner came back with a name for their victim, however, that plan would be nixed. She put as much in her text, leaving off that the victim may have been part of an unsolved serial killer case, knowing it would only worry him.

It was barely eleven when she was done, content that she'd be able to get through it come the morning.

* * *

Ruth Swan lived in a gated community for the retired in Golden Heights. Her apartment looked over the beach the district was named for. Emma found the aging matriarch of the small Swan family sat in a rocking chair in the midst of knitting a blanket on the porch as the sky tried to clear. The soft click of needles stopped when she looked up to see her only grandchild at the bottom of the steps. Her crinkled face rose with a smile.

'Your mother called,' she said, setting aside the work with a soft clatter on the wooden table. 'I hear that lovely young man has finally put a ring on your finger.'

Emma held out her hand for Ruth to examine. The old woman perched the glasses that had hung from beads around her neck. Her crinkled hand enclosed hers as she laughed with the sort of delight only old ladies could muster.

'Of course, back in my day, you didn't live with him before you marry,' she said.

'Might explain the Generation X infidelity streak,' she deadpanned as she sat next to her.

The old woman chuckled. 'Maybe,' she agreed.

Emma lapsed into silence, gazing out over the dying riot of colour Ruth cultivated from Spring until Autumn. Ruth hummed to herself as she picked up the knitting needles. The scratch of metal was oddly comforting.

'It's always a hard day,' she said after a lengthy silence between them. 'You're Da would have proud, you know. Detective with Sergeant on the horizon and a fiancé who treats you like a Princess.' Ruth smiled fondly.

Emma looked away, shying from Ruth's compliment of Killian.

'He does,' she insisted. 'You and Henry. If I didn't know any better, you'd think they were father and son.'

Emma's embarrassed smile morphed into a warm one. 'Yeah,' she said softly, then glanced at Ruth. 'Nana, do you think Dad got in too deep.'

Silence again filled the space bar for the click of needles. 'Yes,' she answered as a car swung into the street. 'But I don't think he forgot which side of the line he was on.' The car came to a halt. 'He loved you and Snow more than anything in this world. He would never have forgotten that.'

Emma drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair as Lieutenant James Swan, Emma's uncle and her father's older twin, emerged from the car. As Lieutenant of a neighbouring precinct, Lieutenant Swan was well respected if a little feared. He had mentored her when she had been a beat cop before she made Detective; a move he didn't seem to approve of particularly when she was placed under Captain Graham Humbert.

'If anyone had said the same of James though…' she trailed off as the man in question pulled off a pair of aviators of and tucked them into his pocket.

Emma's gaze moved to her uncle. She often wondered if her father had survived what sort of man James would have been, but the way Snow once put it, he was already on his own path. He strode to the house, eyes falling on Emma as he mounted the steps to the porch.

'Hello Emma,' he said, his eyes looking over her. The coolness was enough to freeze over the space between them. 'I didn't expect you here.'

'Nonsense,' said Ruth rebuking his nonsense. 'It was her birthday two days ago, and I told you she was visiting today.'

James shook his head and walked into the apartment, the door clattering shut behind him as Ruth rolled her eyes. 'It's always antsy on this day,' she said by way of explanation.

'We all are,' Emma replied as she got to her feet. 'I really have to head back, Nana,' she said as she bent to press a kiss to Ruth's cheek. 'We're having lunch with Mom, and I've already had to leave those boys to their own devices since this morning.'

'Such is the job,' said Ruth, as she got to her feet. 'But wait here a moment. You can't think I forgot to get you a little something, can you?'

Emma huffed out a laugh as she followed the old woman into her home. She stood in the living room as Ruth bustled off into the bedroom. She turned her back on James who had already helped himself to the whiskey and sat on the sofa.

'You shouldn't really be here,' he said in a sharp voice. 'You always remind her of him.'

The strange jealousy that always tinted his voice when David Swan was mentioned curled around his words. Emma frowned and looked down at her tan leather clad feet. It always courted her mind as odd that Lieutenant Swan would show envy towards his supposedly dirty cop brother who left a trail of death and heartache in his wake.

Before Emma could counter with anything, Ruth reappeared with a small wrapped package. 'It isn't much,' she declares.

When it's opened, it is a small, slightly tarnished, silver spoon that had been a Christening gift to her father. She looks at it for a moment. If she's honest with herself, it was a tradition she hoped would never have to apply to her. But as James has never felt the need to procreate, Emma is the only grandchild Ruth has ever had and it's important to her.

'For the wedding,' Ruth says.


End file.
